The Downfall Game
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: (AU) Asacre University is a high school for experienced killers, but Matthew Williams is positive he doesn't belong in a place for murderers! Will he survive the year and graduate, or will his name be one of hundreds lost in the walls of Asacre? Chapter 3: The Downfall Game is introduced to the students.
1. Welcome to Asacre

My first thought upon stepping into the too-cheerful walls of Asacre University is, I don't belong here. I, Matthew Williams, have never killed someone. I've never even gotten into a fistfight. I did once hurt someone in hockey, but it was totally accidental!

Anyway, Asacre University. Let's talk about it. I heard the name comes from a combination of _assassination_ and _massacre_, but I'm not sure and you can bet your bottle of maple syrup I'm not going to ask. The school has a disguise. I mean, if anyone knew there was a high school for killers, a high school that _allowed_ the teaching and doing of killing, it'd be shut down.

No, they say Asacre has a great academic program. I'm sure that's _definitely_ the case.

My parents say all this killing talk is just rumors, and if I want to drop out at any time, I can. Apparently 'I'll be okay.'

This is not going to end well.

* * *

"Welcome, new class!" The woman standing at the podium - actually, she looks about the same age as me, with long brown hair and green eyes - claps her hands loudly. "So, let's lay out the rules, okay? I'm sure you've all done your fair share of killing, so blood should be nothing new."

Wait, what?! I raise my hand, but it's ignored.

"Well, there's an infirmary by the Dining Hall," the girl continues. "I'm Elizaveta, by the way. Groundskeeper. I graduated from this school last year - two years here. And it's a lot of fun! Just make sure you're not out after curfew - that's eleven o'clock. We provide weapons if you'd like to practice, but if you want to do any killing, please use your own." She follows this statement with a pleasant smile, like it's nothing.

Finally I speak. "But... no killing is allowed, um, on campus, right?"

Every one in the orientation crowd turns and stares at me. I look down at my feet. Normally I'm invisible, darn.

"Um..." Elizaveta looks uncomfortable. "Well, not exactly. If you want to kill someone, go ahead. Everything's fair here. Stealing is acceptable, too, but you are required to be civil at events held by Asacre, like dances and meals."

My heart freezes for a second, I swear. Killing is allowed? Forget this, I'll be dead in a day if I don't get out of here. These experienced killers...

Elizaveta must know what I'm thinking, because she says, "Mail is only sent out on Fridays, and today is only Monday. I'm sorry."

There are a couple snickers from the rest of the crowd.

"However, attacking any staff at Asacre - even if you don't actually hurt them - is punishable with death or expulsion. Now!" she claps her hands. "We're going to play a Get-to-Know-Each-Other game!" Like we're not going to be killing each other over the next year.

A girl to my right sighs loudly. I do a double take.

No way can she be a killer. She looks like a porcelain doll. She's petite, almost insubstantial, and has very light hair and fierce-looking eyes. A bow is tied in her platinum hair.

"Don't complain," Elizaveta says cheerfully. "It'll be fun! Everyone, stand in a circle." I notice several tables pushed against the wall - this must be a classroom. Not good.

As Porcelain Girl stands, she ruffles her dress a bit, not on purpose, and I can see a flash of silver. Her side - her entire dress - is lined with knives. Throwing knives, daggers, wickedly sharp things. I steer clear of her, and I later learn her name is Natalia Arlovskaya.

I glance out the window. I can only see a rushing river, so fast it's foaming, and attempting to escape via that will probably get me killed either through drowning or hypothermia, and beyond the river I see a city skyline. I look out the other room, craning my neck, and see woods of some sort, high, bare branches arching into the sky, frosted with ice, the grass yellow and dying. I could escape through the woods and get to safety. No problem!

As the first day drags on, the sky darkens and turns gray, the trees whipping in the wind like ragdolls.

As I walk to the Dining Hall for dinner, I realize I'm dreading the night. Elizaveta told us to lock our doors before we go to bed, and trust me, I will.

"Hey! You're Matthew, right? What's your schedule?" I look up from my chicken and salad - the food here isn't bad at all, unlike most high schools - and recognize Gilbert Beilschmidt from orientation.

"Oh, yeah!" I pull out the crumpled schedule from my pocket. Turns out Asacre wasn't lying about academics. They just omitted the whole bloody murder stuff.

"Awesome. We have World History together! And math."

"Fun," I reply dejectedly.

"So," Gilbert says, taking a huge bite of his sausage. "What's your Kill Count?"

"My Kill Count?"

"Duh, how many people have you killed?" He blinks like it's obvious.

I go blank. "Uhm, like, four?" I lie.

He nods. "Hey, I can respect that. Seven here. You seem pretty cool. Where's your dorm?"

"It's, uh, in the A Wing." I point a shaky finger in the general direction.

"Man, I can't believe it's snowing. Now we've got to trudge around in this cold if we want to get anywhere. Why can't everything just be in one building, right?"

I laugh nervously. "Yeah. Do you know anyone here?"

"My brother." Gilbert points. "He's a year younger, though. Don't you dare kill him, or you'll answer to me!" the silver-haired guy adds quickly.

_Killing is so wrong. I'd never kill anyway._

"Did you hear the news?" someone plops down to my right, setting their tray down with a loud clatter. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

"What news?" Gilbert asks.

"About locking your doors."

"Oh yes, what's all that?" Gilbert replies. "Are people going to, like, break into our room while we're sleeping? No one will do that to me, believe me."

"No, but the Headless Hungarian will."

"The Headless Hungarian?" I ask. "Who is that?"

Antonio chuckles. "Elizaveta, the Groundskeeper."

"She's not headless," Gilbert says.

"No," agrees Antonio. "But you see, dorm doors can only be locked from the inside. Every night at curfew, she walks down the row, testing each door. If you're in there, asleep like you should be, or at least getting ready for bed, and the door is locked, she'll know you're in there. But if you're not in there, she'll find you and cut your head off."

"Sounds like a rumor," Gilbert scoffs.

"It's not a rumor."

The three of us jump as Elizaveta speaks from behind us. I expect her to be angry, but she looks amused. "Oh, you all, believe me." She smiles. "I remember when I was in school. It's up to the Groundskeeper to enforce curfew, okay? And I do." She laughs. "So lock your doors, or else."

"Oh, hey, are we allowed to leave campus?" Gilbert asks.

Elizaveta considers this. "Well, you have to get a permission slip, but once you're off the campus, we can't stop you."

I don't let anyone see my sigh of relief as she walks away. It doesn't matter if Elizaveta is the Headless Hungarian. If I'm not here, if I never come back, she can't cut my head off for being out after curfew. Tonight, I'll be long gone.

Tonight, I am running from Asacre University.

**A/N: I just got this idea for another story, and tell me how you think it was! Please don't be too harsh, though, as according to this standardized test I recently took (it was required and I got my results back) I'm not the best writer... boo! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it so far! Please review!**


	2. The Rules

**A/N: Sorry I went so long without an update! I've been having extreme writer's block on everything, every story, point-blank, so I apologize. And like usual, please review!**

I don't suppose the first murder of the year was a _surprise,_ but I was expecting we'd at least get through the first week acting civilized.

At least the murder wasn't by the hands of a student. It was Elizaveta's doing. They weren't kidding about that Headless Hungarian thing. Some kid didn't believe in the rules or the rumors and was wandering around the halls at midnight when he ran into Elizaveta, who was checking for locked doors. And though she didn't actually cut his head off, he's six feet under now.

All through breakfast - and our first day of classes - I feel anxious, and the classes are confusing and hard and don't make sense, but everyone here is smarter and funnier and deadlier than I am, so of course it's no struggle for them.

That night as I'm walking to my room, a large crowd of students has gathered in the hall of my dorm's wing, chattering loudly.

"Excuse me," I begin, thinking they're blocking the way, but Gilbert calls me over.

"What is everyone looking at?" I ask.

"You know Lovino Vargas, right?" he begins.

I shake my head no, and he sighs. "The kid that got murdered by the Headless Hungarian last night?" And I widen my eyes and reply, "Oh, right. Yeah?"

"A lot of the people here didn't believe that precious little Groundskeeper - I mean, Matthew, we're both taller than her - would dare lay a finger on anyone, especially these experienced killers. They're trying to get into her room and ask questions and throw a riot. I don't know."

"A riot?" I look over at the crowd. They're banging on Elizaveta's door. They don't look mad exactly, but impatient that she's not answering her door.

"What the hell is this?"

The crowd of maybe fifteen students goes dead silent when Elizaveta walks up behind us. Gilbert and I move quickly out of her way, frowning. "You're pounding on my door like barbaric dogs - for goodness' sake, is there an issue? Someone should have came and found me instead of you all trying to batter your way into my room. What's the matter?"

"How were we supposed to know how to find you?" hisses someone in the mob.

Elizaveta's eyes flash but she remains calm. "Fair enough," she decides. "I suppose you wouldn't have known, though you could have asked a professor or Mr. Køhler. I was in the Dining Hall."

"Who is Mr. Køhler?" Gilbert asks, but I can tell he's trying to hold off the crowd. No one wants to know if Elizaveta really killed Lovino or if it was just a rumor. They want to be safe at night, but at the same time, they just have to know or else they'll go mad.

"Mr. Mathias Køhler," Elizaveta says, "is an the idiot you may have seen inciting food fights during meals or building castles made of playing cards. He works in Student Admissions, but we graduated in the same class. He's quite docile. Try talking to him before you go knocking my door down."

Alfred Jones, who is in my History class, shoves his way to the head of the crowd of students and pops the question. "You killed Lovino, didn't you?"

Elizaveta looks mildly surprised. "Yes, I did. He was out after curfew. Surely you all can't be serious? I told you I would. My word is my word."

"You..." Alfred stands there opening and closing his mouth for a second, his face red. "Seriously?"

She laughs and nods. "Yes, seriously. I'll tell you, though, it was painless. I wouldn't put someone to a slow death. Now, please move aside. I need to take a shower."

"You little bitch!" hisses Michelle, a girl in the crowd. "How could you be so"-

Without hesitation, Elizaveta takes a knife out of her brown laced-up boots and throws it straight at Michelle. It doesn't hit the poor Seychellen, but it tears one of the red ribbons out of her hair and the knife lodges itself between two of the wooden panels on the wall.

I feel dizzy on my feet. Talent. That was pure talent. Elizaveta has probably been using knives since before she could walk, or how else could she pull off a stunt like that?

"Move," the Headless Hungarian demands with more force, and no one hesitates this time. Killers they may be, but they pose no threat compared to Elizaveta the Groundskeeper. She is terrifying, and now we all have respect for her. But it's not like we could have hurt her anyway, since she's on the staff and all.

"Well," Alfred Jones says after we hear the sound of running water, looking even more shaken up, "why don't we all hit study hall?"

And no one objects to that.

* * *

It's nine when I slip out of the Science Wing of Asacre. It's dark outside so no one noticed me go, and I told Gilbert I was heading to bed. Despite him being a 'ruthless killer', he's actually very nice, and I've tried my best to be polite to him.

As long as I'm off of the property by eleven, things should be fine. I'm leaving my stuff behind. Nothing matters, I only have clothes and school supplies anyway.

I'm escaping a day later than I intended, but no matter. I just have to get to that city I saw. Not the river, that would be too dangerous.

It takes a good half hour of hiking through woods, but it's over flat ground. I keep imaging what I'm going to do when I get back home. I'll catch a bus back home and tell my parents that the school was terrible. I know they won't make me go back.

But I run into an issue. After forty-five minutes of hiking - my watch says it's 9:45 - I hear a slight buzzing noise.

I think it must be my imagination, my tired mind making things useless and fuzzy.

"It's nothing," I mutter, and continue stumbling through the woods until the faint buzzing gets so loud I have to stop. I look up in the sky and see only stars, but when I look directly in front of me, I jump in surprise.

I hadn't noticed the electric fence until I practically walked into it.


	3. The Downfall Game

_Oh crap._ I step back quickly and turn. No doubt the fence stretches along the entire area. I am doomed. I check my watch. If it took me forty-five minutes to get to this point, maybe I could back to Asacre before curfew. It's worth a shot.

I make it back, but I'm cutting it close - it's 10:30 when I get back. There are still a few people in the library, like Alfred, and I say a quick good-night to them and head back to my room.

At 11:09, I hear a knock on my door.

"Go to sleep, or the Headless Hungarian will get you," I call. I had been reading a book, but the knocking becomes more persistant.

"Matthew, it's Elizaveta," the person knocking says. "We're having an assembly. You can come outside."

I frown, suspecting a trick, and unlock my door and turn the handle. Elizaveta has a giant knife, a cleaver, actually, but it's strapped to her belt, no threat to me at the moment. She sees that I'm coming and moves on to the door next to me. It's not a lie, becuase students are walking out of their rooms, following the crowd to the Dining Hall. About seventy percent of the people are wearing their pajamas.

I find an empty seat next to Gilbert at one of the tables and we turn to look at the stage, where a tall, blonde guy about our age stands.

"What's happening?" I ask.

Gilbert shrugs. "I don't know."

At 11:20, everyone who has bothered to show up is finally in the cafeteria, and the blonde guy clears his throat. "Hello, yeah, I'm Mathias Køhler. I graduated here last year and decided to handle admissions - so if you're here, it's thanks to me!"

_Wow. Thanks. Very impressive, eh?_

"Mathias," Elizaveta snaps, "get on with it."

Mr. Køhler nods. "Alright, well, since you've been here a few days, and y'know how this place works, let's introduce something we do every year. I think. I mean, last year and the year before, we did, but then again I only went here two years..." he seems to get lost in his thoughts.

"Idiot," Elizaveta mumbles. She points to a large board mounted on one wall of the Dining Hall. Our pictures are tacked to one corner, small but perfectly cut, and blank strips of paper are in a wire basket attactched to the wall next to the board. "That is the Downfall Game," she says. "As I was informed, we play this every year. You all see your pictures, right?"

Everyone murmurs yes, suddenly awake and watching.

"When someone dies, we cross out their face and put their name under their picture. As you see, Lovino Vargas has already died." She taps his picture with a finger. "Over here"- she motions to all of our pictures - "are the living. You can gamble on who you think is going to die next. Just take a piece of paper"- she holds one up - "take their picture, write what you think will happen, and place your bet. The Downfall Game is one of the most popular events at Asacre and will be open the entire year."

Suddenly excited, the crowd moves forward to place bets, and Elizaveta says, "Oh, and your bets are good for forty-eight hours. Please also write the time the bet was placed. If you said a person would die and they don't within forty-eight hours, please leave the appropriate amount of money in US dollars here." She taps a silver box with a lock on it that says BETS, sitting next to The Downfall Game. "However, if they are killed, then you get paid the money. And for the forty-eight hours you are betting on someone, you are not allowed to kill them to get money. That will be all for the announcement. Thank you!"

With that, Elizaveta and Mr. Køhler walk off, chatting about how funny it was that just last year, they were us.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, I make a beeline for The Downfall Game. Several people have already placed bets, and a couple more students huddle around the board, moving people's pictures and dropping money into the Bets Box. It makes me sick. I would take a picture of it, but there is a strict no-phones rule at Asacre. (Huh, I wonder why.)

I frantically search the board. Thankfully, my picture is still up in the corner, untouched. Same with Natalia - no one dares to think she'll die - but I see bets for people like Michelle running as high as three hundred dollars, just on the first day.

I take a seat with Gilbert, Alfred, and another guy I haven't met yet with huge eyebrows. He says he's Arthur Kirkland, and I introduce myself as well. I'm in the middle of drowning my waffes in maple syrup when we all hear yelling.

At the other end of the Dining Hall, two people are arguing, and they both look pretty pissed. One has brown hair and glasses, and the other is a blonde.

"What's going on?" Arthur asks.

A teacher moves to quiet them down when the blonde takes out a sword and stabs it into the table. All the way through. The other guy backs off and they continue eating lunch. Someone claps. Other people whisper loudly or laugh.

"That's Vash Zwingli," Arthur comments. "What the hell is he doing with a katana? Seems a bit... Japanese for him."

"I don't know, but Roderich and Vash really are friends. But you know what's weird?" Alfred muses. "Someone bet on the brunet. Roderich Edelstein, I mean."

"Who, and how much?" Gilbert asks.

Alfred shrugs. "I think Ivan Braginsky bet a hundred dollars."

Gilbert nods. "I want to pool my money with Ludwig to make a bet, but he doesn't want to."

"Well," Alfred says, "I don't care about those bets, but math class is killing me."

I laugh. Finally, a normal topic. "Agreed." My eyes wander over to the Staff Table on the stage. Elizaveta and Mr. Køhler are talking. They are the only people on the staff who look our age, minus a Chinese guy - I think his name is Mr. Wang? - who is probably in his late twenties. The other teachers and staff are all at least forty. I wonder if it would be weird being only one year older than a group of students, only one class above them, but be given so much exclusivity and ability and... safety.

"You ready?" Gilbert asks me, tapping my shoulder. "Class starts in ten minutes."

"Oh... yeah." I stand up quickly. It's Wednesday. I still have two days until Friday, Mail Day, when I can send a letter to my parents. Better grin and bear it. I ignore the large crowd of students by The Downfall Game. Only two more days...

Two days won't kill me.

Well, maybe it will. We'll have to see.

**A/N: Okay, that's it for this chapter! Please review! And let's play our own little Downfall Game: who do you think is gonna die next?**


End file.
